A Casual Sort of Love
by Mole-chan
Summary: Nothing in Orre is ever straightforward, and love is no exception. When Wes finds himself falling for the last person he had expected, he must struggle to help it flourish in an unforgiving environment. Pokemon Coloseum. GonzapxWes. Mostly slice of life at first. Rating for some suggestive themes and language in later chapters.
1. Contract

A violent wind buffets the hideout. It wails through the metal hallways, like a specter that haunts the valley.

A slender figure stands waiting in an open room facing the windows, watching the dust whip against the walls like a drum. He is surprised how empty the room is. In a storm like this, he would expect at least one other person to be awake. But no, it is only him. Only him and whatever thoughts his sleep-deprived mind could conjure.

To his irritation, most of those thoughts center around his boss, though not in the "work-related stress" way that one would expect. Anything but.

Over the last few weeks, he has watched with disbelief as the begrudging respect he held for the man changed to something more, the fleeting trust morphed into longing.

However, a muscle-bound giant of easily twice his age, and possibly twice his height, Gonzap was far from the ideal partner he had hoped for. Then again, it's hard to match an ideal he had never set up. Within the ranks of Snagem, love is treated as a trifling inconvenience. Not intentionally, he's sure, but living with such a gang of rogues isn't exactly conducive to a stable relationship. Even the grunts themselves can't find each other more than tolerable.

It's a tenuous brotherhood at best.

He chuckles darkly to himself. _Of course_ he would be the first to break that mentality. How apropos.

His train of thought is interrupted by heavy footsteps on the metal floor. Gonzap is standing beside him, peering into the endless darkness.

"The storm woke you, too?"

"Not exactly."

"How does a storm "not exactly" wake you up? Are you sleepwalking?"

Wes turns slowly, looking his boss dead in the eye without a trace of emotion.

"...Yes." he quips, with all the sarcasm he can muster.

"No need to be snippy."

"Sorry. I have a lot on my mind, I suppose."

"Oh?"

Suddenly, Wes can feel his heart race a little faster.

"Yes. I've..been meaning to consult you about something."

"Business? Are you asking for a promotion?"

"...Of sorts. Yes."

Gonzap's left brow arches impressively. He can feel the tension exuding from the boy, despite Wes' admirable attempts to contain it. It becomes infectious, seeming to osmose into him, making his own breathing difficult.

"I'm not really the romantic type, so I'll be blunt. I may have fallen in love with you."

A chilling silence falls over them. Immediately, Wes begins to question his decision to be so honest with the other man.

"You do know I'm, like, 40, right?"

"That crossed my mind. Yes."

He has to fight to contain his suddenly boiling anger. It's a legitimate worry, and the first thing any sane person would fret about, but the thought that he had not even considered it enrages him. _Of course he knows. He is painfully aware of how wrong this is._

"Are you sure you're not just lonely? I mean, there are no women so I can understand that."

"If it was that simple, I'd have dealt with it already." he responds with some embarrassment, as he finds himself unconsciously curling his hand as if grabbing something, only to bring it to his side with the uncomfortable realization of what he's done.

"And you're sure of this?"

"Yes!" Wes' composure is beginning to crack, "of course I'm sure! Do you think I'd be out here making a fool of myself if I wasn't?"

"I probably shouldn't answer that."

"I'd punch you right now if you weren't my superior."

"And if you weren't trying to confess to me. Kind of unromantic."

"Quite. Now, are you going to answer me, or not?"

"Since we're both being honest, I am kind of into you."

"Is that why you've been babying me so much?"

"That's such a harsh way to put it."

"But is it?"

"Yes, I wanted to protect you."

"Figures. So..is that it? Are we agreed?"

"You treat this like a business, Wes. Not sure what I think of that."

"Just tell me."

"...Alright. Agreed. Not sure how this is going to work though."

Wes flashes a familiar smile, a wide grin that seems to cut into his face rather than pull back naturally, spreading to his ears and baring his teeth like an animal.

"Neither do I. But that's what makes it fun, isn't it?"


	2. Evaluation

Wes arises the next morning to find that the storm has cleared. In its wake, it has left the windows coated in a thick blanket of sand.

He grumbles, knowing he will probably be the one that has to clean them.

His PDA is beeping insistently, the screen displaying an alert for a new text. He reaches for it groggily, but feels only the wood of his nightstand beneath his fingers as he grasps for it. A few more attempts, and it's in his hand.

Through bleary eyes he can barely discern the text.

_"No missions today, if you want to do something._

_ -Gonzap"_

_That's right. We're a couple now._ He isn't sure what to think of the fact that he has to be reminded of this. What should be the dawn of a new stage in his life feels like just another morning. Maybe it was the casualty of it all, maybe the lack of any real climax. Whatever the reason, the tides have silently changed. He can't help but smile that the previously avoidant man had made the first move. Though he supposes he had no choice since he was asleep. What time _is it_ anyway?

_"Sure, I'll be right there._

_ -Wes"_

He grabs his coat from the floor, and dons it with a surprising amount of exuberance. Despite the mundanity of it all, he can't help but be somewhat excited. He strolls the halls with an unusual bounce in his step, which his teammates are quick to take notice of.

A somewhat stocky young man in the typical Snagem attire, a red vest and light grey shirt, approaches him. In comparison to Wes, his features are thick and angular. His face is framed by round sunglasses and thick headphones which wrap around the back of his head.

"Well, _someone's _happy today. Must have just heard the boss called off our mission today, right?" he teases.

Wes chuckles to himself. _So that's what happened. _Somehow, he isn't surprised. Of course the man could pull strings like that, he is in charge, after all, and none of the team members were in a position to question even his most impulsive orders. And even by Wes' standards, this would certainly qualify as impulsive. Perhaps he's already rubbing off on their leader...

"Yeah. It'll be nice to have the day off. Speaking of the boss, he still in his office? Or is he taking it easy, too?"

"You know he never takes a break. Should still be in there."

"Thanks, Agrev." Wes replies simply as he turns his back to him.

True to his word, Gonzap is hunched over a worn wooden desk that Wes is certain is too low for him. Then again, everything is, so it really can't be helped. He's engrossed in a small stack of papers, the closest such a small, slap-shod team can come to 'accounting', perhaps?

Wes approaches the desk without alerting him. Even as he stands directly in front of the corner, Gonzap doesn't bat an eye. The potential for mischief is overwhelming, but Wes manages to contain himself, settling with seating himself on the desk beside him and coughing conspicuously.

Gonzap looks up towards him with a start.

"Oh. Good morning, Wes."

"Morning. Still busy, I see?" he muses, "I don't get it. Call off our mission for a day off, and keep working anyway."

"Well someone has to." Gonzap quips.

"I'm sure there's some grunt you can pass it off to. Come on, relax a little." Wes attempts to reassure softly, leaning in with an eager smile.

"I suppose. Anyway, you got any ideas for what to do?"

Wes raises a perplexed brow.

"Not really."

"Huh. Well. What do people normally do, then? Just go out, or something?"

Wes looks away thoughtfully as he considers their options.

"Just one problem. We're criminals. I've been up in Pyrite, and there's wanted posters for you in the station," Wes explains with some disappointment, "They don't know me, but I think even Sherles would be able to put the pieces together if he saw us."

"Yeah, but that's just Pyrite, right? The rest of Orre is free game?" Gonzap questions.

"Maybe? I'm not sure though. And frankly going to jail isn't my idea of romantic."

"Even with me?"

"Even with you."

"You're so _picky, _Wes." Gonzap laughs.

"I know, I know." Wes smiles in turn.

"What about Outskirt Stand? It's so far out of the way, no one bothers to police it." Gonzap suggests.

"Could work, that's a long way to go for a date, though, isn't it?"

"Well, we've got all day, don't we? Plus that bike of yours will get there in no time."

"I...highly doubt you'd fit in the sidecar.", Wes sputters, "And I'll be damned if I'm going to let you drive."

"Might be a bit cramped, but I could manage." Gonzap reassures with a laugh.

Wes returns a skeptical smile. But at this point, even the most unlikely of attempts seems more appealing to him than staying trapped within the rusted and decaying walls of the hideout and calling it a "date".

"Alright. Let's go then."

* * *

Gonzap pulls himself out of the sidecar with considerable difficulty. He's held fast in its constricting framework, his knees pressed tightly against his torso. His face is whipped by wind and sand, to the point that the dark hair of his mustache is dyed a mottled off-white. How he _despises_ traveling through the desert. Wes, however, is nearly pristine, or as pristine as one can expect after traveling through the deserts of Orre at unreasonably high speeds. The sand is lost in the already sandy color of his spikey hair, and his face is protected by his visor. The grin on his face only seems to rub it in.

At last, he frees himself with a mighty tug, and steps beside Wes as the boy dismounts from the monstrosity of tubes he lovingly calls a motorcycle.

Just as expected, the patrons of the nearly abandoned stand pay them no notice. Even as Gonzap towers over the small and scattered crowd, he's regarded as a completely ordinary sight.

They make their way up the ramp, and take a seat in one of the booths beside the dusty window. An old jukebox plays across from them, a grainy tune that Gonzap vaguely remembers and Wes cannot recognize. The room is small, and dusts plays visibly in the light filtering through the windows. It's clearly old, and the converted framework has seen better days, but there is a strange homeyness about it.

Wes plays idly with his menu as he stares out the window. At _what,_ Gonzap can't be sure. There is nothing but sand as far as the eye can see. Even the mountains are too far away to discern clearly.

He coughs, trying to sway the boy's wandering focus, and Wes immediately snaps to attention.

"So, sleep well?" Gonzap asks idly. It's not he cares, but it seems the most obvious question to ask, if only to start some sort of conversation.

"Uh, yeah. I slept fine I guess. You?"

"Same."

Staring directly down the table into the boy's intensely striking eyes with nothing to say leaves Gonzap subtly unnerved. Wes has always had that presence about him.

To his relief, a waitress finally arrives and steals Wes' focus from him. Even then, the boy's disposition doesn't lighten in the slightest, and Gonzap has to commend the waitress for remaining so warm and professional in the face of his cold gaze.

The rest of the meal follows suit, an uncomfortable silence falling over them for the first time.

* * *

By the time they both arrive back in the base, night is beginning to fall. The halls are dark, save for dim lights leaking from beneath closed doors. A subtle chatter echoes against the walls, proof that the team members inside are far from asleep.

Gonzap finds himself quietly sitting on a chair in the open entryway, and Wes follows his lead.

Still, there is not a word between them. Somehow, the quiet of the night has infected them.

At last, the idle silence becomes so overwhelming that Wes can stand it no longer. _How can this happen? _After having spent most of his life with each other, how can they have nothing to say? The sense of commonality he thought they had falls to pieces under pressure. Suddenly, with no discussion to be had, only the basest of connections show through. An idle hand travels across the seat, which shakes in recoil as Gonzap jumps up suddenly.

"A-awfully forward, aren't you?"

His only answer is a soft, drawn out sound.

The boy's slender fingers slip beneath the thick, coarse fabric of Gonzap's pants. They navigate clumsily, feeling the boundaries in the small, dark space. His eyes are turned away, his wistfully open mouth offset by intently focused brows.

"At least take me to your room, kid. Someone might see."

"Ah, right."

No sooner he answered then he feels himself being swept off the ground in one fluid motion, and his previous thoughts being swept away with it. All he can think of now is how terrifyingly far from the ground he is, and which part of his superior's upper body would be best suited for a defensive punch.

"PUT ME DOWN! PUT ME DOWN!"

The boy is surprisingly light, as Gonzap can't help but note. In his mind, he hadn't entirely expected that to work. From the waist down, the snagger's hardened body falls limp in his arms, like a doll. Thin, almost delicate legs kick occasionally against him.

"Calm down."

"How am I supposed to calm down! You just picked me up like a damn caveman!"

Without a word, Gonzap shifts Wes' weight again, prompting another panicked shout. Wes finds himself suddenly peering up into the older man's dark eyes, a cradle of solid muscle surrounding his body.

"This better?"

The boy blows a disheveled hair from his forehead.

Gonzap slowly lowers him to the ground sometime later, and the boy's tense nerves finally begin to relax. Wes makes his way to the bed, and immediately begins to remove the particularly intrusive portions of his outfit.

The bulky leather jacket falls once again to the ground, revealing the thin body beneath, barely concealed by a tight sleeveless turtleneck. While there is muscle there, it is lean, and does little to offset how skinny, almost frail, the boy is.

The shoes follow, and suddenly he appears so very small without the platforms beneath.

His spiked anklets fall with them, and he is no longer quite so intimidating.

It only now dawns on him that Wes has built a wall so convincing, that even his own teammates have forgotten the delicate contents it contained.

Wes flashes a tempting smile. Perhaps even the boy himself has forgotten this.

Gonzap sits beside him, and finds he has to hunch over to even see the boy's face. It's a remarkably soft face, now that he can see it clearly, at least for a boy his age. His rounded cheeks aren't set particularly high, and flow into his chin with remarkable smoothness. It is almost bizarre in how youthful it appears without jarring against his otherwise lean and angular body.

Even knowing what the snagger has accomplished, hearing his surprisingly mature observations, he cannot escape that Wes is still only a boy.

"Well?"

An inquisitive voice pulls him from his thoughts.

"Well..?"

"Are you going to do something, or not?"

Wes leans in closer, and Gonzap can feel his forehead brush against his own, his hot breath on his lips. His vivid golden eyes are half-lidded, his lips parted invitingly.

"Uh, right."

He reaches to cup Wes' jawline in his hands, only to be somewhat unsettled by how much they cover. The sides of his face are nearly buried in the rough, calloused palms. Wes reflexively places on hand over his, and can barely cover the back. That tiny, unblemished hand which seems to hardly even brush against the top of his own.

Whether intentionally or not, Gonzap finds himself jerking his head up suddenly, cleanly avoiding the boy's lips and instead planting an uncertain kiss on his prominent forehead.

This does not go unnoticed.

"What are you doing?" Wes mumbles with some agitation.

"Sorry, I missed."

"Well don't do it again."

He lowers his aim slightly and presses forward again.

"That was my _eye, _you dumbass!"

"I thought it moved too much to be your lips.."

"No shit."

He pulls back again, and can't help but chuckle at the sight before him. Wes is staring back, a comically deep frown etched into his face.

"Will you hurry up and get your act together?", he mutters low with a slight growl, "I'm gonna lose the feeling at this rate."

"Sorry."

Once again, Gonzap reluctantly pulls the boy closer to him, and feels the light brush of his lips against his own, at least at first. The boy's other still gloved hand grabs the side of his jaw and pulls forcefully, and his soft, thin lips press aggressively into his. Gonzap can feel Wes shifting his weight forward, trying to pin the man down on his back.

He begins to panic for both of them, but cannot voice his concerns, his mouth is forced shut by Wes' ravaging kisses.

Another fierce shove, and both fall backwards onto the sheets. The impact breaks Wes' focus, finally freeing Gonzap from what he would be quicker to call an assault on his mouth than a kiss.

Gonzap weakly lifts his head, and is greeted with Wes draped over his stomach, recovering with deep, slow breaths. On his face remains the same eager smile and watchful eyes that warn he has only yet begun.

"Come on Gonzap, stop holding back."

"I'm not holding back."

The boy's self-satisfied smile begins to fade.

"Yes, you are. Why?"

_Again with the questions, always with the questions._ Even in the bedroom, that boy always has to make him justify himself.

"I don't want to hurt you."

Wes lifts himself, so he is straddling Gonzap's stomach. His previously heavy-lidded eyes are now intently focused, and the brilliant gold seems to glow in the darkness.

"I told you. You don't need to baby me." he responds coldly.

Even as he says this, he appears so small, supported by limbs that nearly threaten to collapse beneath him at any moment.

"I'm not _babying you_, I just don't want you hurt!"

"I won't _let you _hurt me. Now come on and give it to me!"

Gonzap lets out a long, exasperated sigh. There's no point arguing this, and quite frankly he has no more patience to.

"Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you."

Wes grins as he falls forward again, and is surprised to find his next kiss returned with equal passion. He can feel his boss' tongue maneuvering awkwardly against his own within the tight boundaries of his mouth. Both scarcely have room to move, and find themselves pushing violently against each other in lieu of any sort of coordinated effort.

Already, Gonzap is beginning to worry again. If something as simple as a kiss can be so uncomfortable, then surely anything else would be nearly impossible. Yet, with each forceful movement of Wes' tongue, he is reminded of the promise he had made.

He grabs hold of Wes' buttock, finding the entirety of the firm yet malleable surface fits neatly in his palm. Even through the normally cold, smooth fabric, it is pleasantly warm in his grip. He squeezes it lightly, with the utmost care, fearing for even the smallest break in vigilance.

"Nnng, That's better..." the boy comments softly, his voice trailing off to a content whisper.

Wes removes a hand from Gonzap's jaw, and reaches to clumsily draw the shade.

* * *

When his faculties finally return to him, he finds himself breathless, wrapped so tightly around Gonzap's abdomen that he's surprised he hadn't cut off circulation during the whole thing. He looks up to see a distinctly less pleased Gonzap staring down at him. Was he awake enough to care at that moment, he would certainly be disappointed. But as it is, he is not.


	3. Reassessment

Waking, Wes' nostrils are bombarded with the scent of sweat, permeating thick in the unkempt sheets. They scrunch up distastefully as he brings his head from the pillow. Beside him is a vast, wrinkled, empty space that sprawls over the rest of the bed; _all_ of the rest of the bed. There isn't a single inch that doesn't look as if a tiny war has been fought on it. He himself has been pushed as far in the other direction as possible, only just barely avoiding falling from the edge. He can only imagine how they must have been pressed together that night.

Whatever did happen after he passed out in a daze, it is over now, and he is left by himself with only that thick, unavoidable smell.

He picks up his scattered clothes and begins to get dressed.

His PDA is once again vying for his attention with a shrill beep.

He makes his way towards it, his pants still hanging low on his hips, squeaking defiantly with each upward pull.

The screen reads simply, "_Better luck next time._"

It takes every ounce of self-control he has not to throw the insolent device out the window. To let it be lost in the churning sand, never to be heard from again.

He throws his jacket hastily over himself, pulling the sleeves with such agressiveness it almost threatens to break the slip-shod seams. It couldn't have been a _"Good morning"_, or a "_Thank you"_, or anything that even skirted the notion of romance.

"Better luck next time..." he parrots bitterly, "what kind of bullshit is this?"

He adjusts his visor to rest comfortably in his hair, and soon his anger fades into quiet contemplation. Gonzap's words echo in his mind. Perhaps he had simply been lonely, after all. That their first clumsy attempt at a date fell apart so quickly only supports this doubt. There seems to be nothing in common between them at all.

With a sigh, he exits into the hallway, the room still in tatters.

Wandering grunts cling to the sides of the wide hall. For all they are concerned, it is just another day, the unfolding tension beneath their notice. The familiar, echoing bustle of feet has returned, and Wes can hear them shout complaints to eachother as they pass.

"Can you believe the boss has us back to work already!? Damnit, I was just beginning to enjoy my time off, too...", someone bellows behind him.

Just like that, life goes on, as if nothing happened. The world continues moving around him, their one night together only a minor interruption in the unfaltering flow of time. He turns his head away from the crowd.

The quick, light steps of the crowd are broken by heavy, even ones that he can identify in less than a moment. They shake the concrete beneath them, and he can feel the impacts grow closer with each second. Even without turning, he can feel their presence behind him as they come to a stop.

"Good morning, boss."

The sudden return of formality strikes the older man.

"Morning, Wes."

A familiar tension, and silence. Words cluster in their throats before disappearing into the thick air.

Wes adjusts his coat absent-mindedly. What is there to say in this situation? An apology? His pride won't allow it. Sweet, mindless nothings? They're a waste of breath.

"So, new mission today?" he asks tersely. He doesn't care about the answer, but the silence is becoming too crushing even for him.

Gonzap turns to him abruptly, caught by surprise by the sudden question.

"Oh, yeah. Just a routine hit. The usual suspects in Pyrite."

"Don't you think you're going after them a bit too much? It must seem conspicious by now."

"Maybe. I'm not too worried about it yet, though. We just need an easy hit for now."

In his mind, Wes still doubts this logic, but can't bring himself to press it. It's not worth the effort, and he knows the heist will go smoothly, no matter how much the victims have come to expect it. It is Orre, after all. By now, everyone has learned not to resist. It's better to leave with their lives than their money. And with a frighteningly small and ill-equipped police force, there is no one to apprehend them. Even with Snagem a household name, they remain elusive solely due to the lack of resources to tie them down.

That they will be successful is a forgone conclusion, and they have grown idle from it.

He only nods in response.

* * *

The group arrives some time later at the border of Pyrite. They blend seamlessly into the worn, rusted town, its very streets teeming with criminal filth. Trainers gather in the center of town, eager to start a fight with anyone unfortunate enough to wander into their line of sight. Or at least, that's the usual case. Seeing the group of thieves ride into town like a pack of wolves, they all scatter. All the better for them, as the trainers are merely obstacles in their path.

They approach the shop, exchanging only a few meaningful glances before they separate. They have all but memorized their respective duties, resulting in a plan so perfectly tuned that it resembles a finely crafted dance more than the brutal robbery it really is.

Gonzap draws a pokeball from the pack at his side, and from it emerges a giant steel bird that rushes at the store with all its might. It crashes into the wall with explosive force, the metal around it collapsing into itself. The glass of the nearby window shatters onto the floor inside as debris fills the air. Even from a distance, the team can hear the customers and staff within panicking, before a second impact from the opposite wall drowns them out momentarily.

Taking this as their cue, the thieves rush towards the damaged building. A grunt with striking green eyes fumbles with a pokeball of his own as he runs, eventually succeeding in releasing a Koffing. It rushes ahead, thick black smoke billowing from its rough, spherical body, surrounding the already disoriented crowd.

"Wakin! Is everything covered?" a voice shouts from a distance.

He turns to see Wes running alongside him a few feet away, a pokeball in both hands.

"Yeah! Between the smoke and debris, they shouldn't be able to see a damn thing in there! Go get 'em, kid!"

The boy returns a simple nod before pulling his turtleneck collar over his nose and mouth and releasing Umbreon and Espeon at his sides.

He barely manages to find his way to the gaping hole in the side of the building. True to his word, the building is so thick with smoke that it is nearly impossible to see. He can hear and feel the crowd thundering around him, but their forms are lost to the debris. A simple click of his fingers, and Espeon runs immediately to his side, forehead gem glowing to light their way.

He runs along the aisles, plucking anything useful from the shelves into a bag slung over his back. Like a child in a toy store, he throws down items with gleeful abandon.

He makes his way around, and is nearly to the cash register, when he hears his PDA ring. He has to pause for a moment. This never happens. Usually heists go so perfectly that the team never has to communicate with one another. Something is wrong.

He places it next to his ear, and is greeted with the sound of Wakin panicking, causing him to quickly jerk it away.

"Wes, you have to get out of there! The cops showed!"

"What!? They never show up!"

"I know, but they did now! You have to run!"

He calls the two Pokemon back into their pokeballs and makes a run for the entrance.

"Are you sure we can't handle them? Isn't it just Sherles and that other guy?" Wes inquires nervously.

"There's more of them, for some reason! Must be some others from out of town! They have had a pretty big bounty on us, so it makes sense.."

Wes curses franticly under his breath.

He knew they shouldn't have hit the same place so often. He knew it was too obvious. But he had backed down, and now they were all paying the price.

The smoke thins as the entrance draws near, and he can barely discern what looks like the others safely escaping. Dust billows from behind the quickly accelerating bikes. He breathes a sigh of relief, knowing that at least the others are safe.

Suddenly, he feels something crash into his side, knocking the breath from him as he falls to the ground. He can feel the sharp rocks of the pavement cut painfully into the side of his face as he does. His vision blurs, the horizon moving and blending into itself. The sudden blow has left him weak and disoriented, and a heavy pressure pins him to the ground.

"You're under arrest!"

The voice sounds muffled and faraway, his mind still struggling to reorient itself. But he can hear and comprehend those words clearly. He finally begins to understand what is happening, and his heart races. He is captured, alone.

He feels someone grab at his arms and pull them roughly, almost painfully, behind his back. The entire time he keeps his head low, denying them the pleasure of seeing the faintest emotion from him. Even now, isolated and humiliated, he is determined to go with honor.

"Can't say I've seen you on the posters before...What's your name, kid?" one voice of many in the crowd of enforcers asks, the sound of jingling metal in the background as he prepares the handcuffs.

"..."

"Hey, didn't you hear me?"

He continues to hold his tongue, anything to make the arrest as difficult as possible. Seeing no point in pressing further, the officer simply ignores him and continues. Wes can feel the cold metal touch his wrists, the cuffs still open, and the breath catches in his throat. He waits, fully expecting to feel the top of the loop close in on him, but is instead inundated with the sounds of screaming and the bloodcurdling impact of fists on flesh.

He looks up, and sees the policeman from before lying prone on the ground, blood trailing from his mouth where the fist had made impact. Something must have cut his lip on the way down. Gonzap stands above him, looking over the crowd. His posture is confident and intimidating, making the already massive leader appear even more formidable. There is a nervous chatter traveling through the crowd of officers, which quickly swells before dulling to a whisper. Silence, and a small fraction rush towards him, only to be easily deflected and thrown to the side like toys.

More chatter, and a larger wave approaches. Gonzap backs up towards Wes and quickly grabs his arm, placing himself between the snagger and the trailing group as they run. They only have to make it to their bikes, and the officers will be unable to keep up, let alone catch them.

The few feet between them and their vehicles pass like miles. Every moment, the distance between them and the police shrinks, and the tension rises. Wes can feel his heart slamming into his chest with each beat. _It has never been this close. This has never happened._

Finally they are within reach, and Wes quickly slings himself over the seat, desperately starting the engine. The machine roars to life, and kicks up a blinding coat of dust and fire in its wake. He turns, the wind whipping his hair violently against his face.

He can see Gonzap behind him, as Pyrite draws ever farther from view.

They are safe.

* * *

On arrival, Gonzap is surprised to find Wes leaning against the side of the entrance. He stares intensely into the distance, his mind clearly occupied by something. He must have been waiting, there would be no other reason to stand outside in the often vicious winds of Eclo Canyon. The boy turns his head suddenly, noticing Gonzap's presence. His expression is sour, cemented by a deep frown.

"You just had to play big damn hero, didn't you?" Wes mutters bitterly, "I could have taken them. Why didn't you wait?"

The wind whips painfully against the open gash on his cheek, brutally calling his lie.

"Really, this again?" Gonzap returns, exhaustion showing plainly in his voice. His patience is thinning, and with it his ability to mask how very little remains.

"It's just like last night, you always have to baby me. You always have to treat me like a kid!" his voice rises sharply, booming over even the sharp desert winds, "You always have to come save me, don't you!?"

"Maybe I wouldn't treat you like a kid if you didn't _act like one!_ Always acting like it's all about you!"

The man's voice floods the air, drowning Wes' own and leaving the boy silent.

"I don't baby anyone on this damn team, I just make sure they don't die! It's my job, and like it or not, I'm going to take care of you!"

"Is that all I am to you, just another grunt...?"

Wes' pondering is nearly lost to the sands, as it tapers into the air. Somewhere, in his mind, he had still deluded himself there was more to his boss' actions than simple duty. That even as the feelings of that night began to fade, this was something Gonzap would do for him and him alone. Now, before him, all pretenses fall apart and are scattered in the gusts.

"I should be asking the same, since you seem to think I'm just another fuck."

Suddenly, Wes' doubt gives way to seething rage that consumes him entirely. He steps forward, knees bent, bracing himself for a strike he isn't sure he can make.

"You son of a bitch...!" he growls as he runs clumsily towards Gonzap. He can barely keep his footing on the shifting sands, but blind rage keeps him struggling. He leaps forward, flinging his weight against Gonzap's stomach and pushing him backwards. Just as he wraps his arms around the man's stomach, he feels himself being enveloped as well, muscular arms holding him fast against Gonzap's torso.

They fall back into the sands, and Wes can feel the impact thundering through Gonzap's body. He squirms frantically, still blind with rage.

"Bastard, let me go..! Is this some kind of joke..!?" he screams.

"Got some balls, attacking your boss, don't you?" an oddly comforting low gravel resonates in the boy's ears, "must have hit a nerve.."

"No shit, Sherlock!"

The calm in Gonzap's voice is slowly infecting him, and his squirming grows less desperate, until he at last lays still, exhausted.

"Listen, Wes, I didn't save you because I don't trust you. You're good at what you do. I know that. I saved you because I love you, you dumbass."

Wes remains silent, staring vacantly into the distance with a still furrowed brow. He begins to relax, his body going limp against Gonzap's. With each deep breath, he takes in the scent and warmth, the comfort of Gonzap's arms around him, shielding him from the elements.

At last, Gonzap's embrace loosens, and Wes pulls himself away to stand. He casually brushes the sand from his coat, still looking away with an uncomfortable silence.

"Well, we should get inside, then. We're going to get buried alive out here." he replies dismissively, seeing no point in dwelling on what has just happened, now that his nerves have calmed.

Both make their way to the door, and not another word is said-none need to be said. The previous tension has given way to quiet contemplation. Wes' normally intense gaze is replaced with a far-off look, his shoulders softly relaxed. His mind is filled with rebounding thoughts and worries. He can still feel the lingering warmth and pressure from their embrace, hear Gonzap's harsh reassurances ringing in his ears. It's such a simple thing, but how long has it been since he's last experienced it? How long has it been since he felt he could leave himself completely at the mercy of another, all control stripped bare?

But most confusing to him is that what should be terrifying is instead oddly comforting. He is not chained, but held, not restrained but supported. For the first time, he understands, as vehemently as he may deny it.


	4. Modification of Terms

Through the thin, battered door, Wes can hear vague murmurings echoing from the halls. He can't be bothered to try to tune in. He's far too tired, the comfortingly warm sheets further beckoning him back to sleep. He tries to roll over, but finds himself pinned in place by a subtly moving pressure on his chest.

He lifts his head slowly, and finds two wide, innocent purple eyes staring back at him, framed by soft pink fur and over-large, attentive ears.

"Espeon, get off.." he grumbles.

The Pokemon stays firmly in place, kneading the gnarled fabric with his tiny paws.

"Come on, I'm serious. I can't get comfortable with you laying on me like that.." a tired chuckle interlaces itself into Wes' grumblings.

At last, Espeon brings himself up from the sheets, only to place himself on the little remaining space on the boy's pillow.

The boy can only shake his head, not nearly awake enough to offer any resistance.

For all the excitement of yesterday, this morning is eerily calm, as if some inexplicable serenity has washed over him. Normally, he would write this off as simply being tired, in a state of half-awake bliss. He'd said before, himself, he was never the sentimental type, never the type to look too deeply into anything. But he can't. Not this time.

He laughs to himself, eliciting a confused stare from Espeon. He was pretty sure this 'morning after' bliss didn't refer to the morning after a _hug_.

The murmurings grow louder as the crowd draws closer to his room, forcing the reluctant teen from his bed.

Slipping on his coat, the fabric still carries the earthy smell of sand, and the subtle undertone of skin. Of sweat and blood. Some his own, some not, all intermingled subtly so only he could perceive it. At face value, it certainly isn't entirely pleasant. It is raw, filthy, pungent yet metallic. However, its tides flood him with a torrent of memories, emotions, and loose connections. He takes it in, and immediately he can feel Gonzap's firm embrace around him again.

A light brush of fur against his leg breaks him from his reverie.

He looks down. A medium-sized, black, dog-like creature has pulled up beside him. The creature's red eyes gaze back with a hint of concern, as the rings that decorate its body pulsate with each breath. He reaches down to pet him, and that seems to be enough to put the dark Pokemon at ease.

He cautiously makes his way into the hallway, and yet again sees a group of thieves clustered in the middle of the path. This, on its own, would be unusual enough, but somewhere in the mass of grunts, he can make out a taller, unfamiliar figure. Though he cannot discern the details through the crowd, he can see what appears to be long, white strands of snake-like hair, floating on a breeze all their own. _But that isn't possible, right? _He must be tired.

Before he can approach, the stranger has already moved on, leaving only the crowd behind him.

He turns to one of the grunts, an already unfamiliar face further obscured by regulation sunglasses.

"Who was that?"

"Not sure, he just came out of the boss' office. We tried to talk to him but he wouldn't say anything."

"So you have no idea what's going on?"

"Not really. I'm sure the boss'll tell us, though," the grunt tries to reassure both Wes and himself, "Actually, I'm surprised you didn't already know already. You're usually the first to know this stuff."

"I see." Wes finishes dismissively, for lack of knowing what to say. He had already supposed that he was usually first in line, but is surprised at how apparently obvious it is.

He makes his way to leave, when the grunt's voice calls out to him again.

"Say, if he does say anything, could you tell us? This seems like a big deal."

"I'll try." Wes responds simply, before continuing to Gonzap's office.

The office door is open, as if expecting him. In only a few days, a secret, unspoken routine has begun to form. He rarely visited Gonzap's office before, only when strictly necessary. Both had kept a professional distance from each other, exchanging only the briefest of plans as they passed each other in the hallway. But now, the previously closed door swings out for him, without even being asked.

Once again, Gonzap is partially obscured by a stack of papers, though smaller than last time. With how his eyes scan furiously over the pages, Wes reasons he must have just received them.

Wes leans on the desk with a conspicuous thump, wordlessly alerting the older man to his presence. Once his surprise has waned, Gonzap looks to him with surprising warmth, or at least as close to it as his rugged, intimidating visage can manage. In turn, Wes, likely without realizing it, returns a smile. Not his usual manic grin, but something small and genuine, nearly beneath perception.

"Morning, kid. How's it going?"

"Pretty good." Wes' response is brief and sharp as ever, but his expression conveys anything he may have hidden.

"Just good, eh? Seems better than that to me." Gonzap chuckles as he aligns the final pages.

"Alright, you caught me." Wes jokes in turn, extending his arms in front of him with his fists pointing down, as if awaiting cuffs, "Actually, I was wondering about something. I saw a strange man in the hallway."

"Oh? Him? He's an investor, of sorts. We were just getting everything sorted out."

"An investor?" Wes inquires, suspicion bubbling slowly in the back of his mind.

"He works for a bigger team, but needs a bit more manpower. We'll be doing some heists for him from now on. He's got all the targets figured out, so we'll just do the legwork."

"That doesn't sound bad, actually. What kind of things are we stealing for them?"

Gonzap hesitates.

"That's the thing..."

The suspicion that had started small in the recesses of his mind begins to flare instantly. This simple hesitance speaks volumes, and in a moment, shifts the mood completely.

"What thing..?"

"They want us to steal Pokemon."

Wes can only stand in silence at this revelation. It's an odd request, to be sure, but not entirely unreasonable. Most teams rely on Pokemon for manpower, and with Orre as bereft as it is, the only reasonable ways to obtain them are importing or theft. To him, it seems only natural. Natural, but not necessarily _easy._

"I see." Wes replies simply.

"Actually, they dropped off something they said'd make it easier. I don't know, though. Looks weird to me." Gonzap continues to explain with some hesitation, as he turns to retrieve something from the closet at his side.

When he returns, there is a simplistic metal mannequin in his hands, and a strange device mounted on its left shoulder, two smooth, semi-transparent domes cover the shoulder and forearm, connected by a thick red coil that wraps tightly around the arm. The material shines like a brilliant pearl, only marred by a few dents that he assumes it endured during transport. It really does seem almost too beautiful to be in the hands of the likes of them.

"What is it?" Wes inquires, never taking his eyes off of the device.

"They called it a 'Snag Machine'. Said it modifies Pokeballs to be able to capture trainer's Pokemon."

"Ah, I get it. So I can just ask to battle someone, and no one will suspect anything. Pretty clever."

"I thought so too. We've only got the one, right now. So I thought I should give it to our best." Gonzap continues, subtly nudging the boy towards the mannequin. Or at least trying to. Even his gentle nudge ends up nearly flinging the Wes into the display.

Wes turns with some hesitance. His expression is conflicted, a nearly unreadable mix of pride, confusion and uncertainty.

"Me? You're giving this to me?"

"No one else here. Go on, try it on."

The boy's smile widens, threatening to extend past his cheeks with sheer exuberance. He turns quickly back to the machine, and carefully lifts it from the display. He slips his arm through the coil, which squirms and tightens around him, as if alive. It finally settles in place, tight enough to keep secure, but loose enough that is not painful, perfectly conforming to his arm. The top rests securely on his shoulder, a small indent on the inner edge cradling the side of his neck in its cold metallic embrace.

He flexes his arm to test it, and is surprised how easily it bends and moves with him, as if it was an extension of his arm, rather than a machine attached to it.

"Looks good on you, kid." Gonzap muses.

Wes beams again, turning to Gonzap with a proud stance.

"Damn right it does."

Gonzap laughs, the lightheartedness in the room becoming infectious, and tussles the boy's hair as gently as he can. Though it still leaves his hair in a static mess, even by Wes' standards, the boy is unharmed, and that's all that matters. To his surprise, Wes offers no resistance, even laughing as he is pushed down under the pressure.

"Anyway, you should get ready. Your first job with it is today."

Wes returns a skeptical look, shocked by the sudden change of plans.

"Today? What, not even going to let me practice?"

"You put a ball in it and throw. I'm sure you'll get it." Gonzap retorts, "Now go on, get ready. You'll leave for Pyrite in 2 hours."

* * *

For the first time, Wes rides to Pyrite alone. Crossing the desert without the usual formation surrounding him feels completely isolating. It is only him, only him and his Pokemon at his side in the endless, featureless desert. Though, in a way, it is also liberating. He is free, reliant only on his own skills. For him, it is the chance to prove himself he has been pleading for for so long.

He takes it in, savoring the wind against his face, breathing deeply the desert air. This is _his _job, and he will treasure every moment of it.

He pulls into Pyrite, doing nothing to disturb the rhythm of the city. Without the rest of Snagem surrounding him, he blends in perfectly, nothing more than another thief in a city of scoundrels. His target, the Duel Square, is bustling, every foot of it taken by battling trainers and their Pokemon. In the noisy, tightly packed crowd, it would certainly be difficult for any bystanders to clearly see a theft in progress. Perfect for a budding snagger's first run. A wide, confident grin spreads across his face as he approaches the square.

He approaches casually, his eyes constantly scanning for an available target. At last, he finds an unoccupied trainer, a petite, young looking girl in a top hat and frilly pink costume, accented with a red vest. Their eyes meet, and her eager smile tells him she still suspects nothing. To her, this is simply another battle. She has no way of knowing his real intentions.

She points to him with an ornate walking stick she holds in her right hand.

"Hey, you! Wanna fight? Bet I can take you!" she calls out.

Wes responds with only a nod, as he pulls a Pokeball from the inside of his jacket.

As she reaches for a ball of her own, he can see that only one hangs at her waist. He laughs lightly to himself. He can't help but admire her confidence, approaching a strange trainer with nothing more than one Pokemon and her own unwavering pride. The people of Pyrite have always been a hardy folk, and this girl is no exception.

The girl throws the ball to the ground, and from it emerges a small blue sheep with yellow wool that sparks and crackles as it moves. Her long, orb-tipped tail wags eagerly from side to side as it braces itself for a fight. She bleats a feeble battle-cry.

Wes responds in turn, releasing Espeon from his container. In contrast to the anxious Mareep, Espeon sits calmly on the ground, waiting for his trainer's command.

Once again, the girl points dramatically, like an over-exuberant general leading her naive troops.

"Mareep! Use Thundershock!"

The sheep bleats a confirmation before running towards Espeon as fast as her tiny legs can carry her, her entire body glowing with energy, arcs traveling over the wool, as she prepares to strike.

"Espeon, Confusion!"

The jewel on Espeon's forehead begins to glow, and before Mareep can even process what is happening, a powerful beam bursts forth, catching her in the stomach and sending her flying backwards. From the very first strike, the fight appears vastly imbalanced.

Mareep brings herself shakily to her feet, her body wounded, but her pride unscathed. Once again, she charges for a strike, fully intent on finishing what she had started.

Without missing a beat, Espeon launches another attack, once again interrupting Mareep, and knocking her to the ground.

At this point, it is obvious the battle is drawing to a close, and Wes begins to load a ball into the snag machine as inconspicuously as he can. But seen he finds the device itself betrays him. As soon as the ball meets his palm, the machine detects it, and glows briefly from within, a loud whir announcing its readiness.

"Huh? Hey, what are you doing?"

He has no time to bluff, no time to stop what has begun. Backed into a corner, his only choice is to proceed forward.

He grips the ball tightly, and it rotates between his fingers. He can feel an energy radiating into it, and is fairly certain he can vaguely see the ball changing from within. As much as he wants to watch the transformation, there is no time. Hastily, he throws it towards the Mareep.

To his surprise, it works.

The cap opens, and Mareep is pulled into it in a trail of vivid red light.

The ball shakes as she struggles desperately within her bonds. Once, twice, three times, and the ball falls still.

Mareep is his.

Before her former trainer can comprehend what she has seen, Wes grabs the ball makes a dash for his bike, the crowd still none the wiser.

His first job alone has gone off without a hitch.

* * *

Wes strides through the doors of the Snagem hideout with a glowing smile, pride in his work emanating from his confident stance.

A few grunts loiter in the distance, but pay no mind to the events at the doorway. Gonzap, however, waiting for him against a wall, is quick to pick up on this.

"Looks like your first job went pretty well." he notes.

Wes responds without a word, simply bringing up the newly transformed snag ball where Gonzap can see it, occasionally wiggling it for emphasis.

Gonzap eagerly grabs the ball from his hand, rewarding him with another tussle of his hair.

"I knew you'd get it."

"Damn right you did." As he fixes his hair, Wes echoes a boast that carries both pride and warmth, affirming Gonzap's confidence just as much as his own.

His gaze rises again to meet Gonzap's, who is caught in it. Between the soft hair running through the boy's fingers, his vivid gold eyes, and the unfettered joy in his face, something so rare that few have had the privilege of witnessing it, the sight of it is strangely entrancing. For several moments, they remain in place, not saying a word, unaware of confused passersby stopping in their tracks.

Gonzap coughs conspicuously to break the silence.

"Anyway. It's getting close to supper, we should get something to eat." he hurriedly segues, gesturing down the hall to a large room with cluster of worn tables and rusted, broken-down refrigerator just out of view, the closest thing Snagem hideout has to a kitchen.

Wes responds with a laugh that slowly flows into a knowing grin.

"Of course."

* * *

Concealed by the dark of night, Wes brings himself carefully from the bed. The oversized sheets cling to his body as he tries to escape, tethering him in place as Gonzap anchors them on the other side. Small breaths travel through the taught fabric.

Wes looks over to see his boss' massive form, undisturbed, unaware of the boy's brilliant gold eyes looking down on him. He can't help but smile, seeing the man who is always so full of rage sleeping peacefully, the gentle rise and flow of his chest illuminated by dimly filtered light. He knows, in some small way, this must be a sight only he has been allowed to witness, a side no one else has seen.

With a firm tug, Wes finally manages to free himself from the sheets, and begins to put on the clothes freely strewn across the floor, save for his coat, which he simply picks up and holds close.

The hall outside is completely silent, as far as he can tell. He checks his PDA, which reads 1:00 am, and suddenly feels much more secure, guarded by the shroud of darkness in the twilight hours of morning.

However, in a secluded section of hallway beneath his notice, another figure emerges. A shambling, half-awake grunt feeling his way from the entrance of the bathroom. He watches as Wes exits from Gonzap's room, at an hour he knows is far too late for business. Immediately, the man's mind begins to overflow with questions. Countless how's and why's, all repeating and reforming endlessly, until a sudden clarity emerges from them.

On some level, there had always been a unanimous awareness that Gonzap favored the boy. He was allowed to dress out of code, he was the first to receive news, always at the lead of any heist. But Wes had the skills to warrant it. He had earned his place. But now it didn't seem that simple. Now, seeing the boy emerge from Gonzap's personal quarters in the dead of night, the lone grunt begins to realize the true nature of what they had all been seeing.

With Wes unaware of his unwanted company, both proceed back to their rooms.

* * *

"Hey, boss, can we talk to you for a second?"

Gonzap can't help but be taken by surprise by this sudden request. Normally, he is the one to initiate any discussions, the grunts following without question. Now, he finds himself surrounded by a tightly packed mass of nearly identical workers, all clearly concerned about something.

"Not now, I have work to do."

Against all Gonzap's expectations, the group does not back down. Only shuffling in tighter around him.

"Let us rephrase that, we _need _to talk."

"Alright, alright. Fine. Let's go." he concedes, gesturing to the meeting room down the hall.

They follow his command in a surprisingly orderly fashion, flooding the room and filling the seats one by one. It's all so familiar, something they have all seen so many times before, but for Gonzap, it also feels utterly foreign. He takes his place in front of them, but feels no control, no power. He is no longer the leader, but being led by an angry swarm.

"It's about Wes," the first one speaks up, "We feel like you're favoring him a bit much."

"What are you talking about? He's good at what he does, of course he'll get more out of it."

"It's not that," another interrupts, "you're spending a lot of time with him, and we've seen him a lot in your office. He's practically got free reign of the place!"

The restrained discussion begins to turn to orderless chatter. Gonzap feels trapped, frozen, surrounded by irrational hungry eyes. The slowly boiling discontent that had formed over the years is finally overflowing, the last restraint broken.

"Stop that! Quiet all of you!" Gonzap bellows.

But the crowd does not settle.

"You act like he's the only one here! What about the rest of us?!"

The tension in the room is rising quickly, and Gonzap can feel himself begin to panic, though he does his best to mask it. There is no room for fear in front of his men, no room for doubt. The instant he loses his grip on them, anarchy is certain.

"Quiet!" Gonzap slams a fist against the table, leaving a noticeable dent in the wood.

The sound finally silences them, if only for a moment. They stop, frozen, like cornered deer, wide eyes all drawn to Gonzap's trembling fist.

"You're all being ridiculous! I already told you, he's earned his place. That's all. Now get your asses back to work!"

More dissatisfied murmurings, and the crowd dissipates, leaving Gonzap alone with his thoughts. He sits down, exhausted. He has been caught. He knows this. Though he puts on a convincing lie, he knows the seeds of doubt have already been planted. Not only in his men, but in himself.

Perhaps, they had a point. Perhaps he had been neglecting the many, in favor of the few. In the end, Snagem is just as much a business as a family, and the time he had given Wes may have been a luxury he couldn't afford.

In the distance, he can hear the faint sound of tentative footsteps approaching the door.

But he says nothing.


	5. Resignation

_"Out for a meeting, text my PDA if you need me._

_-Gonzap"_

Wes lifts the note on the door slightly to read it, before quickly retreating his hand in anger.

_A meeting, of course._ Yet _another_ goddamned meeting.

It's not that he didn't expect there to be complications from working with another team, of course there would be. But that didn't mean it didn't irritate him. Over the course of only a few days, he has watched the distance between them grow. He used to be the first to know anything, the door always open for him. Now, almost as soon as he had become accustomed to it, he is out in the cold again. He only consoles himself with the fact that this is true of everyone on the team. Murmurs of discontent fill the halls every day, with a growing amount of grunts thirsting for knowledge they have been denied.

Only recently have they even learned the name of the team they are working for - Cipher. Even then, this was only after the group's brightly colored peons began to infiltrate their hideout, outnumbering their own ranks.

There is nothing he hates more than being left so utterly in the dark.

With no leads and nothing better to do, he wanders aimlessly.

As usual, the halls are filled with a mix of Snagem and Cipher uniforms, and the once quiet air booms with overlapping voices. Occasional peons look at him meaningfully, as if they know something he doesn't, not that he would be surprised. He returns only a silent nod to each. They aren't worth his time, only intruders in their ragtag family.

Suddenly, a door opens in the distance, he turns to see the door of Gonzap's office swing slowly open, as the gargantuan man slips carefully through the frame with a sheet of paper in his hands. Instantly, his mood lifts ever so slightly, and he changes course to meet his boss at the door.

"Hey, what's up?"

Gonzap keeps his head low, only looking up as briefly as necessary. Every movement is precisely calculated to draw as little attention to both of them as possible. He smiles subtly, for a moment, just long enough to shed Wes' suspicion, but nothing more.

"Oh, I was just getting an updated list of Pokemon Cipher wants captured. Nothing important."

"Really? That's all?" Wes laughs, trying with all he has to lighten the situation, "Seems like an awfully long meeting for a tiny list like that."

Gonzap's eyes remain on the sheet as he continues walking. Wes isn't even sure he's really reading it. It's difficult to see the details from his low vantage point.

"Yeah, that leader though, he doesn't know when to shut up."

Normally, Gonzap would interject that with a laugh, even just a slight one. But there is no jest in his statement, and it throws Wes off guard. The smile on his face dissipates suddenly, and his joy in anticipation of being with Gonzap follows.

"Something wrong?" he questions, quiet and tentative, any trace of his usual brashness gone.

"Hm? Oh, nothing, sorry." Gonzap throws on another smile, but it fails to cover the suddenly sombre mood. The ruse has been lifted.

Wes quickens his pace to bring himself in front of Gonzap.

"Hey, come on. You can tell me." he asserts.

"I really can't. It's classified."

Wes stops, letting himself fall into position at Gonzap's side again. The man has to force himself to continue looking forward. He knows exactly the expression that lies on the boy's face. Dejection, confusion, surely at least a hint of anger. He can't keep a secret from a face like that. Even without seeing it, it tears him apart to know he has to keep secrets from Wes in the first place.

"I see." with those simple words, Wes falls back even further, keeping a slow pace behind Gonzap.

They continue in silence, until Wes finally interjects with the first thing he can think of.

"So, any new hits today?"

It's not that he wants to know. He really doesn't. Lately, their workload has become so constant as to be mundane. It's always the same, steal a Pokemon from this trainer, then come back home. But it's something. It's something to talk about, something he knows Gonzap will have to divulge eventually anyway.

"Yes, actually. One in Phenac this time."

"Phenac..?"

He doesn't understand. All their targets, to the last, have been in some part of Orre's scummy underbelly. All of the trainers they stole from have been criminals. It was one of the few things he could use to justify himself. But Phenac? The crime rate in Phenac is practically non-existent, and those few crimes are actually perpetrated by its own citizens. To rob from Phenac is to pry innocent Pokemon, flailing and screaming, away from decent trainers.

"Yeah, I thought it was weird, too. But boss' orders, I guess."

Wes cannot even begin to comprehend the surreality of that phrase coming out of Gonzap's mouth. But, all the same, he finds himself in the exact same situation. Even though neither of them agree with it, they are both bound unwittingly by the chain of command.

"I guess", Wes trails off, "When do I leave?"

"2 PM at least."

"Right."

With that, Wes stops completely, letting Gonzap walk on without him. The man hesitates, looking behind him occasionally to make sure Wes is still there, but continues on his way when he realizes Wes has stopped following.

Wes simply watches as he goes, trapped in a maelstrom of his own conflicting thoughts and emotions.

* * *

The alarm he had set on his PDA for 2PM rings harshly. He already has the snag machine ready, but he cannot say the same for himself. Even now, he is uncertain. Everything about this feels wrong.

He slips the coil over his arm. It tightens more slowly than usual, as if sensing his hesitation.

He looks over to Espeon and Umbreon, sleeping peacefully on his bed, curled into each other in a massive ball of fur. He feels a little guilty as he wakes them both gently. Ideally, he wouldn't have to wake them for this, but with no other Pokemon, it's his only choice. They both yawn intensely and stretch before looking back at him with deep, innocent eyes.

He can't help but cringe internally. He knows they have no idea what's going on, and only mean well. But looking at their happy, eager expressions, knowing he is about to deprive another Pokemon of the same happiness...

He gives both of them a brief pat on the head before putting them back in their Pokeballs.

* * *

He arrives in Phenac some time later. The town is beautiful, flowing through neatly cut trenches to feed the flourishing trees. The buildings are cut from the same rock as the paths and city walls, seeming to blend seamlessly into their foundation. It is a stark contrast to the used wasteland that is the rest of Orre. He can't help but feel nervous. He clearly doesn't belong here. Unlike in Pyrite, he no longer has the element of surprise in Phenac.

He opens his PDA and navigates to an email containing the outline of his mission, as well as a picture of the target and target Pokemon. Within a few minutes of searching, he has located them. A young boy, playing idly by the fountain in the middle of town. Wes winces visibly.

He walks forward casually, struggling with every step to conceal his doubts and fears. His shadow is cast over the boy, immediately catching his attention. He looks back up at Wes, his eyes wide and full of wonder. His smile is innocent, unsuspecting. The only sign of nervousness at all is the subtle darting of his eyes.

"Uh, hi mister. What do you want?"

_Great, I don't even get the luxury of not starting the fight this time._

"I would like to challenge you to a Pokemon battle. If that's alright."

The child looks confused, but that soon gives way to excitement.

"Oh, sure!"

He scrambles to one side of the walkway, as to allow both of their parties plenty of room to move. Wes follows suit, walking to the other side.

The boy reaches for a ball attached to his belt. Once again, it appears to be his only one, but at his age that's almost to be expected.

"OK! Go, Paras!" he shouts as he throws the ball with as much energy as he can muster, putting all of his excitement into this one swing.

A small, crab-like creature with mushrooms growing from her back emerges. She scuttles back and forth across the ground with some confusion.

Wes, once again, internally winces. She's so small, he can tell the boy hasn't had a chance to train her much at all. With Espeon, he has a clear type advantage, but he can't bring himself to use him in this already cruel fight.

He releases Umbreon instead, saying nothing as he does so.

"Oh wow! An Umbreon! That's so cool!"

"Heh, yeah. I guess he is." Wes replies with no enthusiasm. He simply can't muster any.

Everything about this battle, every last thing, seems to serve only to hurt him. Every breath, every movement from this boy is nothing but a cruel irony. "You go first."

"Oh, OK! Uh, Paras, use Scratch!"

The crab scuttles forward, filled with just as much exuberance as her trainer. Her claws extend forward, snapping as she makes her way towards her foe.

Still, Wes says nothing, only gestures towards Paras with a turn of his head, so obvious is the plan of attack. Umbreon rushes forward, hopelessly outpacing his opponent, and grabs her between his powerful jaws. He clamps down, and Paras lets out a scream. He throws her down and retreats again, already doing significant damage with just this one attack.

Wes can hear the boy panicking from a distance, but his eyes are elsewhere, surveying Paras for an ideal time to strike. She's hurt, shaking and limping as she tries to steady herself for another attack. If Umbreon strikes again, she'll surely faint. But she's still strong enough to escape.

He has no choice, he has to take this chance now.

Once again, the snag machine whirs to life, beneath the notice of the frightened boy digging in his pack for a potion. Wes signals for Umbreon to fall back.

He takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes.

_I'm sorry._

With a wild spin, he lets the ball fly, and watches in horror as it precisely hits its mark.

Paras is pulled in before either she or her trainer can see what had happened.

"Paras!? What did you do to Paras?!"

The ball shakes.

"I...I'm sorry."

"I don't understand! What did you do!?"

Another shake.

Wes looks away, he has no response that could possibly justify what he has just done.

The ball falls to one side, completely still.

Slowly, deliberately, he plucks the ball from the ground and walks away, leaving the boy scared and crying behind him. He forces himself forward.

_Please forgive me, it's just business._

* * *

Walking through the door, unfortunate quarry in hand, he expects to be greeted by nothing more than an empty hallway, and a closed door. Instead, he's surprised to find that, though the hall is indeed empty, Gonzap's office door is open. A small glint of expectation begins to shine through his doubts and guilt.

He approaches tentatively, peering through the open entryway before coming inside. Gonzap is at his desk, as usual, but the stacks of papers that usually lay in front of him are conspicuously absent. Wes takes this as an opportunity to enter without guilt.

"Hey, I got the Pokemon."

This catches Gonzap's attention, and with no papers or other work to avert his gaze to, their eyes finally meet for the first time today. He looks surprised, as if caught in the middle of something. But it quickly fades to a reluctant smile.

"Oh, good! How'd it go?"

Wes shrugs.

"I'll take that as a 'good enough'."

"It was easy, if nothing else."

"I bet. They're really scraping the bottom of the barrel with that one. Don't even know what they'd need a tiny Paras for..."

"No shit."

Wes looks idly around the room for a few seconds. His mind is full of questions, but most are too painful to even utter. He knows he won't find answers, anyway. Those disregarded, only one remains, progressively forcing itself to the front of his mind. Finally, he can stand it no longer.

"Looks like you've got no more paperwork for the day."

Gonzap looks back at his empty desk, as if he has somehow forgotten about the lack of

papers.

"I guess not."

"Maybe we should do something, then? You look bored stiff, anyway..." Wes asks with a cautious smile.

Gonzap hesitates.

"Uh, sure. You had anything in mind?"

"Well we can't exactly go to Phenac, considering..." Wes attempts to laugh, somewhat bitterly. Even the attempt is painful, but he needs to lighten the mood somehow.

Gonzap chuckles with him.

"No, not really. At the risk of boring you, maybe Outskirt Stand again?"

"Well, I'm pretty certain we haven't robbed Outskirt Stand yet, so that seems reasonable."

"Alright. Outskirt Stand, then. Meet at the entrance at 6?"

"Right." Wes answers with a relieved smile, "sounds good. See you at 6, then."

Without another word, he places the ball on the desk, and exits the room with a renewed hope. Though the guilt still plagues him, he at least has someone to talk to, again.

* * *

_What am I thinking? This was a stupid idea._

Only 15 minutes until 6, and Gonzap struggles to prepare himself. Not so much physically, there's no dressing up when you have only one outfit, but mentally. His attempt to distance himself from Wes had failed utterly. As usual, the boy had pulled him back without even realizing. Was that necessarily a bad thing though?

He turns his PDA to silent.

Despite their difficulties, it had been a mostly pleasant ride, as far as he is concerned. Or at least as pleasant as it can be when concerning Wes.

He adjusts his collar without thinking.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to try again. Just leave his office open for the other grunts, if that's such a big deal.

He takes a deep breath, and strides confidently out the door, only to be stopped within a few steps. The white haired man from before stands in front of him, holding a series of urgent looking documents in his hands.

"Nascour? What are you..?"

"There's no time. There are a few things I need to review with you."

"Listen, I kinda promised someone els-"

"They can wait. This is of dire importance."

"No, -this- is of dire importance! Let me go!"

The phantom breeze that had supported the man's hair stops suddenly, as his face darkens.

"Gonzap. I know you are in need of our funding, now if you value your job, I suggest you follow orders."

"..."

Gonzap looks to the distance, towards the waiting entryway. This can't be happening, not now.

"Well?"

He looks down, defeated, and takes a deep breath.

"Alright. Alright. Let's go..."

Standing near the broken down vending machine, he reaches impatiently for his PDA again. Another minute rolls over, as if to enforce his worries. Yet another minute compounded on the previous 19 he has spent waiting.

For the final time, he puts it back in its place in his coat pocket.

_Gonzap isn't coming_. He knows this much. He doesn't know the reasons, but the outcome is undeniable. He had written off his coldness as a phase, looking to small moments of happiness as signs of improvement. He had only prolonged the inevitable spiral plainly in front of him.

Just like it had so many days ago, a bitter grin cuts into his cheeks, and he chuckles to himself. He laughs at his blindness, laughs at his naivete - laughs at his belief that an earnest feeling alone could keep them together. It starts softly, rumbling quietly in the bottom of his chest, and rises to a bellow that fills the empty halls, surrounding him with a cruel echo. Even as his heart breaks, he can only berate himself, drowning the betrayal in manic laughter.

At last, some minutes later, he calms again, his lungs tired and throat raw. His mind, however, is far from drained. The gates that hold back his rage have only just opened.

A door creaks open in the distance, followed by the hasty stampede of boots on the cement. For a moment, he nearly worries they were drawn out by the noise, only to watch them march right past him.

He looks to see that the meeting room door is swinging loosely open. The room is completely silent, but he can make out a formidable shadow on the wall.

Without a thought, he rushes towards it. He isn't sure what he will say, if anything. He has no plan, no summation of his thoughts. All he knows is that he is hurt, and that the person responsible waits inside.

He pushes the swaying door roughly into the wall, nearly puncturing the weak structure with the knob.

Gonzap turns to him with some shock. But Wes' eyes are not on him. The walls are lined with cages. Filthy, cramped cages, bars discolored with rust and what Wes is hesitant to identify as blood. Pokeballs lay scattered between them.

"What is this...?" Wes barely manages to breathe out.

"...What are you doing in here?!

"What is this!?" The boy repeats, practically screaming.

In an instant, everything comes together in a painful torrent. The Pokemon they had stolen, Cipher , it had all lead to this. He can feel the guilt rising as bile in his throat, but holds back. It wasn't _just him, _after all_._

_"_Listen, calm down..." Gonzap responds softly as he rises to approach.

"I won't! How could you do this!?" Wes continues to shout, even as his already abused throat throbs in protest. He approaches in turn, each word accentuated with a powerful step forward.

"You don't understand..! We needed the money! The hits just aren't paying anymore. The town is damn near dry, Wes!" the man roars in return.

"That's all!? All the pain this is causing, and it's just for money!?"

Wes grabs a fistful of the older man's vest, bringing him closer with a sudden pull.

"Damnit, Wes, what's wrong with you!? You didn't care so much about it before!"

The boy's eyes widen in rage, and he pushes the man away clumsily, only managing to warrant a small half step back. For a moment, Gonzap can almost see an unsteady light reflecting in them.

"I didn't _care_!? You bastard, I always cared! I thought I told you that!"

Gonzap returns a perplexed look, carefully reviewing the boy's words. It doesn't take long for Wes to realize his mistake. Somewhere, his wires had gotten crossed, and the pain he had struggled to mask is showing through.

"And even if I didn't...why would you think I would be OK with this?! With hurting Pokemon like this..!?" Wes continues, regaining the careful measure in his voice.

"I thought you would understand we need to survive, no matter what. Life isn't always fair."

Gonzap's voice is slow and calculated, and the calm of it dissipates into the air. Wes can feel his rage begin to slowly subside. Though it still burns within him, it is contained, and his rational mind can finally begin to take hold.

"But there must be another way. We've been hitting up the same places. Maybe if we tried something else..."

"Do you know _why_ we've been doing that? Because it's reliable. Even if we don't get much, it's something. Places like Phenac don't fear us. If we tried something else, there's a good chance we'd get nothing at all," Gonzap calmly explains, "and I have mouths to feed, Wes. I can't afford that."

"But still, why Cipher? If we need help, isn't there anyone else?"

"Not in Orre. And in case you haven't noticed, there's not a single region that wants to have anything to do with us. I don't like it, either, but it's all we've got."

Wes' heart sinks. There is no compromise to be made, no changing the atrocities he has committed. Both of them have their minds set on protecting what they hold dear, and nothing can sway them. They have reached a split in their path from which there is no return.

"I understand..."

Gonzap mistakes the pain in the boy's voice for complacency, and ruffles his hair in an attempt comfort and reward him. However, the well meaning gesture only solidifies the boy's resentment.

"Don't touch me. Not now." Wes growls, swatting the thick hand away as he exits without looking back.

* * *

A cool, wet nose presses against his hand as he carefully locks the wires of the small metal box in place.

"I told you, Umbreon, I'm fine." he tries to comfort, even throwing in a poorly faked laugh to finalize it.

Umbreon, however, is clearly less than convinced, answering with a knowing glance and nervous coiling of his tail. Wes pays him no mind. He knows, by now, his partners can see through his lies. There is nothing he can hide from either of them. But now isn't the time.

He struggles to keep his hand in position as Espeon slides into the crook of his arm. The Pokemon's soft pink fur would normally be of great comfort, but not now. The pain is still too raw.

All he can think of his how many countless nights like this he must have stolen from those trainers, those times of comfort and happiness they will never have back, the love and affection those Pokemon will surely never feel again. How can he be satisfied with something he knows he does not deserve?

Of course, he has been hurt as well, but he feels disgusting even acknowledging it. What is his pain to them? But if it is petty for him to nurse his own wounds, then so be it. After all, who would ever know?

A droplet falls gently onto the wire's coating, and he wipes it away nervously, fearing it will stray towards the still unguarded connectors. He will not have his work sabotaged by a moment of weakness.

The last wire set, he screws the cover roughly into place. He stares at it for some time, only just now realizing what he has set in motion. His path has been chosen, and there is no turning back.

Come morning, he will leave nothing but a memory.


End file.
